


Sententia

by Tyllup



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcoholism, Eventual Smut, M/M, Mystery, Slow Burn, brief mention of suicidal ideation, hank and connor wanna kiss, with a side helping of story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:04:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyllup/pseuds/Tyllup
Summary: Hank had always been a loose cannon with a disciplinary file thick enough that he could get it published. He’d always assumed that though he didn’t have a winning personality, his work alone would be enough to keep him on the force.He thought wrong.Jobless, depressed, and content to marinate in whiskey and misery, he has resigned himself to a life of solitude. Only Connor has other plans. They may not be officers any longer, but that doesn’t mean their work, or their partnership, needs to end.





	1. Lower

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many other things I should be working on writing wise, but I love this ship and I got inspired. The outline got out of hand. Buckle up, bitches. I've got 17 chapters outlines for this thing. Will update weekly.
> 
> Thanks to the lovely starkspangledobsidian on tumblr for betaing for me and helping me pick out a title~

        Hank had been close to retiring. His life had been spent on the force and as much as he’d bitched about the job towards the end, he’d loved it. Or some parts of it at least. Sure, he was late most days, but he was damn good at helping people in his own way. He’d hated getting put on the Deviant cases, mostly because he’d hated not working with real people and making an actual difference. It was all dead humans and broken electronics. 

        So he’d thought.

        He hated how blind he’d been. Connor had changed everything, had opened his eyes, but by then it was too late. 

        He stretched his legs, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable tingle in them that came from having a Saint Bernard half in his lap. He’d sunken down into his usual spot on the couch, the tv on, but barely loud enough to be audible. He wasn’t really watching it anyway. One hand was resting on Sumo’s head while the other wrapped around a clean glass half filled with whiskey. It was his third… No his fourth? He wasn’t keeping count, but the bottle on the table by the armrest was half gone and he was on his way to a comfortable drunken stupor.

        The first one since Connor had come to live with him. Little shit had cleaned out the cabinets of anything even closely resembling alcohol, insisting it was for his own good. As if there weren’t a liquor store right around the damn corner and he wasn’t a grown ass man that could buy more. 

        Still, each sip of the lukewarm liquid came with a guilty aftertaste he didn’t like. Connor was going to be disappointed when he got home. 

        Hank frowned, eyed the glass, then frowned deeper. So unbearably clean. The only smudges on it were the faint fingerprints he’d left while holding it. 

        It bothered him how unbothered he was with Connor’s cleaning and the fact that he was falling into this domesticity he didn’t deserve. He was a lost cause. Hopeless. And now fucking jobless. 

        Still Connor was there, unwavering, loyal. With that perfect face and that quiet doting patience every time Hank fucked up. Just like he was fucking up now.

        The thought had him downing the drink and reaching to the bottle for a refill. 

        Connor’s arrival was preceded by Sumo lifting his head, giving a gruff grunt that served as a lazy bark, then the dog hopping off the couch and moving over to the door to wait for it to open.

        He greedily knocked back the next drink while he could before the sound of whining hinges swinging open and rustling bags reached his ears. 

        “Lieutenant,” Connor began, pausing in the doorway.

        “Told you a thousand times. You can’t keep calling me that,” He grumbled in reply, not so much as looking back. Could androids develop bad habits? Connor’s was using that damn title for him, despite how often he’d said not to. He was tempted to stand, started to, then thought better of it as the room spun delightfully.

        “Hank,” Connor corrected, closing the door and clicking the lock into place. 

        That voice, so damn soft when it caressed his name, so infuriatingly warm and intimate in that way that made his chest go pleasantly tight. It’d been ages since he’d felt like this towards someone else. Protective. Affectionate bordering to close to stronger emotion he didn’t want to admit to still feeling. 

        Hank squeezed his eyes shut.

        “It would do you some good to get out of the house a bit, you know.” Connor’s tone was cool, factual, but Hank could hear that thin layer of concern and, possibly, disappointment. But maybe he was projecting that last bit.

        “It’d do me some good to still have a job,” he shot back. It wasn’t Connor’s fault, he knew that. He’d made the choice to beat the living hell out of Perkins, but the agent had meant it when he said it’d cost him his badge. Not that he’d have done anything differently. He’d take this listless hell over losing Connor. 

        The silence in the kitchen punctuated by the rustle of bags, the fridge opening, cabinets being stocked, left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

        Fuck.

        “I didn’t mean that.” He was making an ass of himself. As per usual. He pushed to his feet finally, turned unsteadily, and moved into the kitchen to try and help unpack the food he’d sent Connor out for. All a ruse to get that bottle of whiskey while Connor was away. As well as the others he’d stashed around the house. “It ain’t your fault. What happened.” He said by way of apology.

        “Isn’t it?” Connor glanced over, watching Hank slowly bend for a bag. In a split second Connor knew what he’d done. He could feel it. And instead of being angry, Connor moved to Hank’s side, grabbed his hand and wrapped a steadying arm around his. “I can get it, Hank.” 

        No anger. Just acceptance. Why wasn’t Connor angry? Hank sure as shit was. He was always angry with himself. He wanted Connor to yell, just as Molly had before things had fallen apart. He wanted someone to dish out some punishment, the sort he deserved for being such a low life. The sort he’d long gotten over being able to dish out to himself. 

        “Why don’t we get you to bed?” Connor suggested, offering him a small smile and already starting to urge him towards the bedroom. “Tomorrow,” Connor paused, the light at his temple turning whirling yellow briefly before going blue again. “Tomorrow we can go to the park.”

        Get out of the house. It’d do him good. Hank felt a lump in his throat and he tried to swallow it down.

        “I can’t,” He admit finally. He’d been tense, resistant to following Connor’s lead, but he let himself relax, to lean on Connor more heavily, as he felt grief starting to wash over him. Connor sat him on the edge of the bed, starting to strip away his clothes until he was down to his boxers. Putting him to bed as if he were a child. 

        Connor made him so damn self conscious. He was soft around the middle with a dusting of hair across his chest that had gone grey. He was old and worn out. Connor, on the other hand was young and fit and, fuck, he would be forever. Hank tried not to recall the few times he’d gotten up early enough to catch Connor changing. The fucker didn’t seem to know was privacy was or that bedroom doors were meant to be closed. Those Cyberlife pricks sure knew how to make a perfect body. One that was so unbelievably human looking.

        “Of course you can, Lieut- Hank.”

        “Can’t,” he repeated, already feeling so bone tired. He averted his gaze, his frown from early returning. “Can’t stand the state of this world. It’s always been on fire, little embers, but now it’s burning down around us and I can’t do fuck all about it.”

        He flinched as Connor’s hand came up to touch his cheek, to turn his face back so they were looking at each other. 

        Connor didn’t ever emote like human did. He wasn’t the most expressive. But the were subtle ways his face changed that said more to Hank than words ever could. Those brown eyes were synthetic material, composed of the smallest wires and delicately crafted lenses, but they were so real, so warm and understanding, it was easy to get lost in them. 

        “I understand, Hank. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be better.” Connor’s thumb brushed against his cheek and Hank was left with the urge to bend in and see just how Human connor felt, to see how soft his lips were and -despite the horrifying things he’d seen Connor put in that mouth of his- how Connor tasted. 

        _Dirty old man_ , his mind supplied, making him look away.

        “Will it?” Hank huffed in reply, already feeling sleep pull at him as he flopped down onto the mattress, his eyes slamming shut to block out the sight of Connor and the urges that came with it. 

        “I think it will.”


	2. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank is convinced that his being fired is the end of his career, but Connor has other plans. He won't let Hank fall into despair. Not when they still have people to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to those who commented on the last chapter and encouraged me to keep going. It meant a lot. So much so that I'm posting chapter 2 early~

       “They might take you back, you know. If you asked.”

       “Like hell am I going back there with my tail between my legs,” Hank shot back without so much as missing a beat.

       Connor glanced over to where his human partner was hunched over the table nursing a steaming cup of coffee. He didn’t understand Hank’s pride, didn’t get why Hank asking for what he so clearly wanted was so difficult, but they’d had the same conversation in different forms over the past few weeks since Hank had been fired. Each time, Hank was insistent that there weren’t options for them. Connor knew enough about human psychology to know this was the depression talking. He wished there were some way to convince Hank that he was more than his past experiences, that what Hank saw as failure, Connor saw as new opportunity.

       “Better to sit around here,” Connor commented lightly, looking back to the pan in front of him. Thick white batter pooled in a perfect circle at the center, small bubbles dotting the surface until the pancake was ready to be flipped. He heard Hank grumble something and the corners of his lips twitched in a barely there smile.

       “There may be other options, Hank. If you are unwilling to try and regain your position with the DPD, you could-”

       “Connor,” Hank cut in. “I get what you’re doing. I don’t like how things panned out either, but it is what it is. Some things you can’t change. I don’t want to keep rehashing it, so drop it, would ya?”

       Connor went still for a moment, his LED spinning and flashing yellow before turning blue. He pushed the pancake onto a plated stack that was waiting on the counter next to him.

       “Of course, Hank.” He responded easily, adding a dollop of butter to the cake before sliding the plate in front the ex-lieutenant.

       He wasn’t going to drop it.

       Connor excused himself from the house just after breakfast, saying that he had some errands to run which earned him a dubious look from Hank and a gruff, “What the hell kind of errands do you have?”

       Neither of them worked. Connor didn’t exactly need to eat and he’d been out the night before to restock the place. It was the most seethrough kind of lie.

       Still, Hank hadn’t made a fuss since he was, Connor was sure, eager to break out the whiskey. Connor had dumped the half empty one from the night before down the sink and tossed the bottle into the trash, but he knew Hank had others hidden about, knew where they were, of course. But they could keep playing this game if Hank wanted.

       He supposed he should be upset with Hank’s behavior, but he couldn’t be. Hank had been through a lot and had gone through it alone. Work was all Hank had an now that was gone. Connor hoped with time Hank would learn to lean on him, to let him help carry the burden that weighed on Hank’s shoulders.

       In time. Hank was already getting more comfortable with having Connor around. That was proven in the small touches Hank offered now and again. He was sure the ex-lieutenant wasn’t conscious of them, of the occasional brush of Hank’s fingers against his arm or the press of a hand to the small of his back that left an unfamiliar tightness in his chest.

       He was still getting used to the sensations he’d begun to recognize since he woke up. Before, he could process input, but his body didn’t respond to pain or pleasure. Now, physical contact sent a rush of electricity through his synthetic skin, running along thin wires to his brain, and made him crave more. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d been alone, thinking about how Hank’s hands, not above his shirt, but beneath it, how those calloused digits would feel against his chest, his stomach, moving lower to-

       He pulled himself from his thoughts before he they could get too far.

       The new limits of his body were thrilling… and terrifying. He didn’t know what would happen if he were hurt. He didn’t have a clue as to what pain would feel like, but if it meant getting to further explore pleasure, he take all of it.  
The bus he took down to the DPD was packed, a mix of humans and androids. Some of his kind were standing in the sectioned off back half, but others, like him, were seated among the humans, dressed in normal clothes. Some bearing their LEDs while others had removed them. Possibly for the sake of blending in in these uncertain times.

       Hank said that returning to the force was out of the question. Fine. There were other ways that Hank could still work and feel useful if that’s what he needed. Ways he and Hank both could make a difference.  
Connor took the steps up to the police station, pushing open the doors and entering it for the first time since, well, everything. Since Markus and the other Deviants, himself included, decided to stand up for their rights. Even barring the strange looks he got from the officers that knew him, it felt surreal.

       He slipped a coin from his pocket, casually rolling it back and forth over his knuckles as he moved to the front desk. There was a man already there, bent over and talking quietly with the clerk. He’d have to wait.  
His gaze lifted to the office beyond and he took note of the lack of androids. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest. Relations between humans and androids were tense now, both parties unsure of where they stood with the other. Still, it was a disheartening sight. Right now his people would need the most help. Some humans were willing to give Deviants the equality they asked for, but others were causing a stir, pushing back, even going so far as to organize and protest as well, calling androids nothing more than machines. Soulless. Corrupted.

        He paused his perusal of the department as his eyes found Hank’s old desk and saw Gavin Reed of all people stationed at it. Bad enough that Hank had been fired, but this felt like an intentional slight. Connor flicked the coin into his palm, gripped it tight as Gavin met his gaze and broke into a wide snide grin.

       What an asshole.

       He’d been indifferent to Reed’s blatant bigotry before, but the more he started to learn himself and his emotions, the more he found himself feeling both good things and bad. Hank was one of the good feelings. Despite Hank’s rough exterior, he had a soft heart and always had Connor’s back. They were more than just partner’s, Connor was sure, maybe even more than just friends, he hoped. Hank was a warmth that sometimes stirred into a heat when Connor caught the other man watching him or those rare times when Hank’s gaze dropped to his lips.

       The feelings Gavin stirred were the polar opposite. Gavin was cold and hard, a tightness is Connor synthetic joints and a stiffness in his movement. Connor didn’t like it in the slightest.

       “Can I help you, ah… sir?”

       Connor’s eyes snapped up. The man he’d been waiting behind was gone and the secretary was looking at him expectantly. The nameplate on her desk read McColl in blocky black font.

       He eased his tight jaw and relaxed his fingers.

       “Yes. I’m here on behalf of Hank Anderson. I’d like to pick up a background check and proof of past employment.”

       She hesitated.

       “Listen, I know your kind- um… In the past we may have been allowed to have Androids handle sensitive paperwork like this, but these days, I don’t think we can..” She trailed off, her brows furrowing as her eyes darted away to a few officers that passed. “He should come down here in person, ya know?”

       “It’s very important. He’s looking for new work and he needs this,” he offered the half lie, plastering innocence across his face with a smile. “Surely there’s something you could do.”

       That had her focus on him again, put her at ease and had her own expression softening.

       “Wasn’t right what happened to Hank. He’s a good man. A good officer too. Lot of the people around here don’t pay much mind to the girl behind the desk, but he always stopped to chat once in a while. Ask about my kids and all.” She was already starting to type away. “Gimme just a minute, alright?”

       Connor may have been known around the precinct, but he wasn’t trusted. Hank, on the other hand; Hank seemed to have a way of getting people to bend the rules, even when he wasn’t there.

       Connor nodded, gaze already going back to the rows of desks and people that filled the room. The officers looked tired, bent over desks and all busy. A few were talking to distraught humans, others were filing reports as they downed cups of coffee trying to stay awake.

       The place was pristine as ever with its high ceilings and sharp modern design, but everything was off. The glass doors and windows had been flawless before, tended to my androids and made spotless. Now they were smeared with and prints and the beginning of grime. Folders were left out, stacked high on desktops instead of filed away where they belonged. Chairs were askew. The floors were stained with coffee that had been spilled and dried, shoe marks, and dirt that that had been tracked in from outside.

       Captain Fowler was watching him from his glass office. Making sure I don’t cause trouble, Connor thought. Astounding how before becoming a Deviant the humans here had a distaste for him, sure, but for the most part his judgement was seen as sound Now, he was viewed as dangerous for simply existing.

       “Why won’t you help me?!” A female voice cried over the low chatter in the room and the sound of quick typing, drawing his attention. A woman was seated by an officer’s desk a few feet away, her eyes red from crying, her brown hair hastily pulled up and messy, like she hadn’t washed it in a few days. The blue sweater she wore was too big for her. Someone else’s, he deduced quickly. A boyfriends?

       “Ma’am, please calm down.” The officer seemed exasperated, but disinterested.

       “You’re the police. You’re supposed to help me. You have to find him!”

       “We file missing persons on people. If your droid has run off, file a report with Cyberlife like everyone else whose bots have gone rogue. We can’t-”

       “Bullshit!” She bit, tears welling up in her eyes. She swiped at them with her shirt sleeve as she shot out of her chair. “He hasn’t gone rogue. I don’t want him taken in. Destroyed. I want him found and brought home.”

       Connor tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, his fingers starting to fiddle with the coin again. He took a quick scan of her face. Cyberlife may not want him anymore, but they couldn't lock him out of their extensive databases and all of his old functionality was still intact. In his periphery her picture popped up as well as her basic information. Lynn Thomas, Date of birth: 05/14/ 2016, Nurse Practitioner, Criminal record: None.

       “Ma’am, we-” Whatever the officer was going to say, she didn’t want to hear it. The distraught woman hurried past, muttering a soft “heartless,” and “unbelievable,” under her breath just as a stack of papers was slapped down in front of Connor.

       McColl gave a little smile.

       “There you go, hun. Tell Hank Molly says hello when you see him. What kinda job is he going after anyway?”

       Connor met her gaze, matched her polite expression with one of his own.

       “He’s applying for his private investigator’s license.”

       “Oh yea? Got some big clients lined up?” She asked.

       Connor hesitated, his gaze straying to the door as it swung closed.

       “One, I think,” Connor said. “Excuse me.”

       He snagged the papers, tucking them under his arm and making a mental note to stop by the town hall next. The day would be nothing but filling out paperwork. First, though-

       He stepped out into the crisp afternoon air. To his relief, he spotted that blue sweater and that messy up-do. Lynn had stopped at the foot of the stone steps, her phone in her shaking hand, thumb frantically brushing across the screen.

       “Excuse me, miss Thomas?” He started down to her, drawing up short when he reached her side. “I couldn’t help but overhear some of what happened inside. My name's Connor. Would you mind telling me what’s wrong? I think I can help.”


	3. Meanwhile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Connor is gone, Hank can't help but worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another early update. I am living for this feedback. Thanks so much everyone!
> 
> Warning for mentions of Alcoholism and suicidal ideation.

       Hank hadn’t minded Connor leaving for the day. He didn’t know what the android was getting up to, but he was sure it had something to do with the little shit getting into something he shouldn’t.

       Still, it left him time to dig into his stash. Only to be guilted into not drinking at all. Connor had apparently found his hiding spots and put fucking alcoholics anonymous pamphlets in with the bottles. Smart ass. Hank wanted to be pissed, wanted to, frankly, down every bottle out of spite, but he knew better than to think the pamphlets were left out of condescension. Connor was trying to help in that quiet sweet way he did and Hank begrudgingly liked it.

       Instead of getting shit faced like he’d planned, he put on a pot of coffee and, with a hot cup in his hand, settled in front of the tv. Sumo came over to drop down into his lap as he found a football game and watched for a while.

       As the day wore on, he tried not to worry. The game ended, the Lions winning 24 to 10. He channel surfed for a while, keeping an ear out for the sound of Connor returning. As much as he’d been trying to avoid thoughts of work and the distress of what was happening outside these walls. Still, he’d heard about the anti-android violence and the longer that he waited for Connor to come home, the more he worried. What the hell was Connor doing out there?

       The tv became a distant drone as his mind started to conjure the nastiest images, the ones fueled by deep seated fears. Connor was an idiot that would throw himself in the way of danger at every turn. When they were working together he could not count the number of times he’d nearly had a heart attack as Connor was shot or fucking vaulted across rooftops.

       All he could imagine was Connor on his way home, being stopped by humans who wanted nothing more than to beat up bots and leave them bleeding on the sidewalk. Or, more likely, Connor seeing another android being harassed and intervening. Connor could handle himself well enough against assailants, he tried to reason with himself as he flicked through channels, his gaze returning time and time again to the cracked blinds and the door.

       It didn’t stymie his concern, couldn’t stop his mind from running amok. Connor surrounded by humans, by angry faces and vicious snarls. Connor being beaten. Connor left somewhere alone, broken and covered in blue blood.

       He stopped on the news, trying to focus on something, anything else. God, he needed a fucking drink, needed to burn away these thoughts with the warm comfort of stiff whiskey running down his throat. Sumo’s weight was keeping him in place, but his mouth was dry and his hand itched to have a glass in it.

       The anchor droned on, clips of androids being found around the city, in the same state he worried Connor would be in, littering the screen. The sight made him angry, made him hurt. He couldn’t lose Connor.

       “Son of a bitch,” he grunted into the empty house. He looked to the window again. Night had fallen and the street lights had come on outside, leaving halos of gold against the black pavement of the road that were dotted with the flicker of moths. The light pollution from the city left the sky inky brown and starless.

       There was a bar a short walk away. One of his usual haunts. He could go there and avoid the disappointment in Connor’s eyes at finding him drunk again. He could go try tracking Connor down, but the thought of finding Connor in anyway close to the ways he’d pictured terrified him.

       He was just about the get up when he heard the doorknob turn.

       Thank christ.

       “Where have you been?” Is what came out of his mouth, far more casual than he felt. He was still tense and he steeled himself as he glanced back, expecting smears of thirium across Connor’s face, his clothes, only to find none. Connor’s sleek black suit was just as spotless as when he left. Relief had him relaxing. And pissed him off. Connor had just fucked off for the day and let him worry.

       “I stopped by the DPD,” Connor began and Hank rolled his eyes, giving Sumo a nudge so he could get up.

       “I told you- Dammit, Connor, don’t tell me you went there begging them to give me my job back. The last thing I need is them thinking I’m some sad sack that they need to hire back out of-” He broke off as Connor fished a card out of his pocket and offered it out. Hank propped himself against the couch and took it.

       His picture was on it, next to which the words “Professional Investigator” in all caps beneath which was the licensing number and his name. Un-fucking-believable.

       He let out a short laugh, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. That’s what Connor had been up to all day.

       “This shit takes weeks to process. How in the hell did you manage this?” He asked, straightening and leveling his gaze on Connor once more.

       The android shrugged in that almost but not quite human way. Connor’s body language was still new, gone from stiff and professional to these little gestures Hank ate up, but they still didn't come fluidly and natural to Connor. Not yet.

       “A woman at the DPD was willing to help, and made sure I told you she says hello. You also have connections at city hall, it seems. Your career has afforded you many valuable connections. I’m surprised you haven’t taken advantage of them sooner. They were willing to stay late to ensure the necessary paperwork was handled quickly and efficiently.”

       Hank ran his thumb over the card, over his picture. It wasn’t too dated. Maybe dug up from some old personnel file.

       “You did all this for me, huh? That worried about me being stuck around here?”

       Connor actually paused, looked uncertain and darted his gaze away. When he responded it was careful.

       “I can’t help but worry, Hank. Given your… habits and the fact that I once found you passed out after playing russian roulette… It seems to me that extended isolation isn’t good for your health. This is the only way I can think to assist you.” Connor met Hank’s eyes finally and the ex-lieutenant felt his heart damn near melt.

       “Yea, well,” he struggled for words, shifted from foot to foot, and looked down at the card again, unable to hold Connor’s gaze for much longer. Connor looked so damn sincere, so caring and, worst of all, lost. He didn’t know how to save Hank. Hell, Hank didn’t even know how to save Hank. What a mess. “This piece of plastic isn’t going to do much good without clients.”

       Connor perked up at that.

       “I thought so too. I meet a woman by the name of Lynn Thomas. She was at the DPD, but no one would help her. She said her boyfriend has gone missing. I got her contact information as well as her address and told her that we would be by first thing in the morning to talk to her.” Connor said, offering a little smile.

       “Of course you did,” Hank grumbled, giving a little nod. He huffed and flipped the card over then back again, considering this. He could say no, could say fuck it and toss the damn license out. Private investigators were jokes to cops and he could only imagine the hell he’d get if he ran into any of his old colleagues...only… He missed work. He missed helping people. And hell, he’d bent the law too many times to seriously think this would be any different than what he’d been doing on the force. “Alright. We’re doing this, then.”

       “Wonderful.” The way Connor damn near lit up made Hank all the more certain that this was the right thing to do. He wasn’t the only one that had become useless. It was easy for him to forget that Connor was specially designed for police work. They were both tools that had been discarded and lost their purpose. They both needed this.

       He watched as Sumo hopped off the couch and trotted over to Connor’s side. The android bent, scratching the dogs ears. That was another thing that made Hank's chest go all tight. Sumo was the closest thing he had to family. Connor and Sumo got on so well. Hank was fucked. Entirely smitten and he'd be damned if he ever admit it outloud.

       “If this girl’s boyfriend is missing, why couldn’t she file a missing persons?” Hank asked.

       Connor’s affectionate petting slowed, but his smile stayed in place.

       “Because he’s a Deviant.”


	4. Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor take on their first client. They interview Lynn Thomas to try and get information on her missing boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is a little late! Last week I had finals and it was also my birthday, so between projects celebratory stuff, I've been busy. I have to, again, thank everyone who has left comments. It's awesome knowing people out there are enjoying what I put up and are looking forward to reading more. Thanks and enjoy!

       Connor smoothed a hand down his tie self consciously. He was still getting used to wearing his own clothes and seemed to constantly worry about how easily mussed they got. His old uniform was always pristine. Barring his occasional injuries or deaths, the RK800 uniform was near impossible to soil. These clothes, these plain black suits he selected because they looked nice, but still felt familiar, almost like what he used to wear, wrinkled in the heat. It bothered him a bit, though he tried not to show it.

Hank caught the movement and shifted from foot to foot, glancing away. 

       “You look good,” The assurance came out soft but gruff and left a warmth in Connor’s chest that he couldn’t put a name to. 

       They were standing outside of Lynn Thomas’s quaint little house in a part of the suburbs that Connor hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t the sort of place that Deviants went rogue and murdered their owner. All the houses were cookie cutter, with neat shrubbery lining the sidewalks, the occasional topiary, and fresh cut lawns. Rose bushes lined the porch and two white rocking chairs sat to the right of the door, one of them with an fluffy orange cat curled up in it. Squinted green eyes were fixed on them as Hank leaned in to knock for a second time.

       It took a few long moments for them to hear the lock click and the door opened. 

       Lynn looked just as tired as she had the first time Connor had seen her, but she’d clearly tried to clean herself up because they were coming. She was freshly showered and wore a thin layer of makeup that didn’t hide the bags under her eyes. She offered a smile, though it fell short of being genuine. 

       “Miss Thomas,” Connor greeted, offering a smile of his own. “You remember me, I’m sure. This is my partner Hank Anderson.”

       Partner. Connor didn’t miss how Hank’s lips twitched at it, though if it were from pleasure or amusement he wasn’t sure. He hoped it was the former because he liked working together again. That isn't to say he didn't enjoy spending time with Hank at home, but being out and on the job was invigorating. 

       When working with the DPD, they hadn’t been on a level playing field. Hank was a Lieutenant and he was simply an interloper, the android sent by Cyberlife. A machine meant to do what humans couldn’t. Now, well they  _ were _ partners. Equal. 

       “Mind if we come in?” Hank asked.

       Lynn blinked slowly, processing it, then looked apologetic.

       “Oh. God, sorry, yes please.” She pulled the door open wider to allow them to pass. “Um, the kitchen is just through the living room. I can put on some coffee, if you want.” She rushed as if to make up for her misstep. 

       Hank nodded, stepping through and following her to the kitchen once they were all inside and the door was closed. 

       Connor stepped into the living room while Lynn put on a pot of coffee. An island sat in the middle of the kitchen and Hank sank into one of the stools that lined it. He fished a slim worn palm sized notebook from his pocket, patted around for a pen before finding one, then turned his attention to their client. 

       “What can you tell me about what happened?” He asked.

       Connor took in the state of the couch, cluttered with pillows and a mess of blankets that said Lynn had been sleeping there instead of her bedroom. The television was on, tuned into the news, with the volume low enough that the anchor was barely audible. The coffee table was littered with old newspapers, open to stories about murdered androids.

       Not that any news outlet was calling it murder. Connor bent to skim some of the stories. ‘Destroyed’ is the word the media liked to use. Because despite the government talks about potentially giving androids rights, a lot of humans were still more comfortable seeing androids as machines. 

       “Well,” Lynn slid a mug in front of Hank and leaned against the counter. She fidgeted with the sleeves of the sweater and her teeth tugged at her bottom lip as she considered where to start. She crossed her arms, holding herself tight as he began. “The last time I saw him, he was going out to do some grocery shopping. He liked to cook. Said he liked knowing I was taken care of, ya know? Even before he became-”

       “Deviant?” Hank provided.

       “I don’t like that word.” She frowned shifting from foot to foot. “He -they- didn’t deviate from anything. This is who they were meant to be, ya know? He just became… aware… I guess.” She swallowed hard. “Before, I didn’t cook much for myself and he mostly tidied up around the place. I’d just eat microwaveable stuff. Lots of fast food after my shifts. Most of the time I don’t get a chance to take lunch breaks or anything. Just eat after work then crash.” Tears filled her eyes but didn’t yet spill onto her cheeks. “That was actually what made me know that something was different about him. Different than the androids we had at the hospital. One night I got home and he said ‘Can I cook you dinner?’ I told him no, not to bother, but he looked at me… with such a soft look and said, ‘You take such good care of everyone else and neglect yourself, Lynn. It’d make me happy to make you something. You need to eat.’ He started going out while I was at work. Picked up cookbooks and doing the grocery shopping so he could have something warm and fresh waiting for me when I got home.” She drew in a breath, her fingers digging into the knit fabric of the sweater. “I know this doesn’t seem, um, pertinent or anything, but I just mean… This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Him going out.”

       Hank nodded, making a couple of notes before taking a sip from his coffee.

       Connor moved past the sofa, stepping up to the mantle above the tv. A small potted plant stood at one end preceding a row of ceramic knick knacks and a few photos. All of Lynn with a handsome man. The deviant in question Connor figured, since the man in the photo had an LED at his temple. The two were smiling, laughing even, despite the fact that all of the photos were taken in various locations around the house.

       “Did the two of you go out much together?” He called, plucking one of the frames from where it sat and moving on. 

       “Yea. Not much because it was hard. Keeping up a front. I had heard about his kind on the news. Before this uprising business. We always had to pretend when we were out. I worried that if anyone caught on that he’d changed that he’d be taken away. I liked it better when we were here and he didn’t have to pretend.”

       Connor nodded, finding nothing more of note and moving to the kitchen to stand next to his human partner.

       “He’d pretend not to be a d- ah, awake,” Hank piped up, “But did he ever slip? Do you think anyone outside of you noticed a change in him?”

       “No, of course not,” Lynn swiped, giving a small sniff and trying to compose herself. “Or, I don’t think so anyway. I had a neighbor whose android woke up and left. I remember him commenting how I was lucky that mine hadn’t.”

       “This is him, right? A model TN400?” Connor asked, lifting the photo so she could have a look at it. He knew the answer already but preferred to have a verbal confirmation.

       “Yes,” She nodded, giving a weak smile. “I called him David at first, but after he woke up I told him to pick something that he wanted. He goes by Vincent now. Or Vince. His favorite movies were old Vincent Price ones and he liked the name.”

       Hank took the picture, his fingers brushing Connor’s briefly. The contact was so unsatisfying, barely whetting Connor’s appetite. He pushed the thought away before he could dwell too long on how badly he wanted to feel those fingers twined in his, their palms comfortable pressed together. He’d seen plenty of human couples holding hands, liked the quiet intimacy of it. He often caught himself wondering if it was something Hank would like too.

       Not the time or the place, Connor, he chided himself. 

       Hank eyed the picture before setting it on the counter and scribbling a few more notes. Not that he needed to. Connor would be able to remember the conversation verbatim if they needed to review it again. 

       “Where did he do all of his grocery shopping and is there anywhere else he may have gone before coming home?” Connor asked.

       “There’s a SuperFoods a few about a mile and a half away. Sometimes he’d take the bus, but mostly he’d walk.”

       “Any particular reason?” Hank prompted.

       “He enjoyed it. There’s a family a few blocks down that has rose bushes at the edge of their lawn. He liked them a lot.”

       “Hence the bushes along the porch.”

       At Hank’s prompting Lynn’s cheeks colored and she nodded.

       “Is there anything else you can tell us about his disappearance?” 

       “No. I’ve gone looking for him. Asked around at the SuperFoods if he’d been seen, walked the home looking for him. Basically, going where I know he would to see if I could find him. Terrified that I’d… find him…” Her voice cracked and Hank’s gaze lifted, the two of them having some unspoken exchange that Connor didn’t understand.

       “It’s alright, ma’am. We’ll find him for you.” Hank tucked the notebook away and downed the rest of the coffee before standing. “If there’s anything else, let us know.” He paused before giving a nod to the photo. “Mind if we take that?”

       “Of course. Please. Whatever helps.” She started forward, offering out a hand to shake, first to Hank, then to Connor. “Thank you. Both of you. I was losing hope. The police just kept giving me the run around and I didn’t think anyone would help me.” She cleared her throat, looking uneasy again. “I don’t really know how the, uh, PI stuff works, but… how much is this going to cost?”

       Connor glanced up to Hank, finding the older man’s eyes on him. They hadn’t discussed it and clearly Hank expected him to have an answer. He was the one that orchestrated all of this after all.

       “You’re our first client, so of course it’ll be pro bono.” Connor blurted out, offering a smile.

       Hank’s brows shot up in surprise and then a second later furrowed.

       “Now, wait a minute-” Hank began, but Lynn cut in.

       “Really?” She lit up, tears coming in earnest now. She took their hands again and Connor felt her squeeze tight. “Thank you so, so, much. I can’t say how grateful I am.”

       Connor felt his chest go tight and he gave her hand a squeeze in return. “Really, it’s nothing, Ms. Thomas. We’ll be in touch.”

       It wasn’t until they were outside and heading down the walkway to the car that Hank griped, “Pro bono. Are you kidding me? I know you don’t have to eat, but I do and my savings are going to run out eventually.”

       “We can go back, if you’d prefer.” Connor paused. “I’m sure she’ll be devastated, of course. She probably doesn't have the money to spare to pay us. I don’t know if you noticed or not, Hank, but clean as the house was it was in disrepair. Water stains on the ceiling suggest the house needs a new roof, which can be quite pricey and-”

       “Don’t. Don’t start guilt tripping me.” Hank grumbled, stopping by the car and shooting Connor an annoyed glance. “You happy with yourself?”

       “Of course. I’m sure you’ll agree that it feels good to be back to work and Ms. Thomas was grateful for our help. I can only imagine you feel the same. Pay or not.”

       Connor caught the way Hank’s lips twitched again, though he was certain it was in amusement this time.  


       “Get in the car.” Hank huffed, before moving around to the driver’s side. “We’ve got a case that needs our attention.”


End file.
